Demigod or Princess?
by totallyunrelated
Summary: Alexandra is the shunned illegitimate daughter of a prince. All she knows of her mother is that her name is Annabeth, she's American and she has grey eyes and black hair. When she stows away on a plane to America, she doesn't realize that her life will change forever ... and there's no going back, not when gods are involved.
1. 1

1

My name is Alexandra Victoria Elizabeth. No last name. You've probably never heard of me. Why would you? According to my 'family', I'm an "embarrassment". They don't even refer to me by my name, most days, they just call me the "thing". Often with a tone of disgust and loathing. I'm kept well away from the public eye. Never in any family portraits, never even invited to sit at the table for dinner. It's like I don't exist, which I'm sure would be better for everybody involved. Especially me.

You're probably wondering what I did to deserve this kind of treatment. Am I a criminal? Did I kill somebody? Well, no. Nothing as drastic as that, though I'm sure if I did, it would be better than what I _did_ do. Exist. You see, I'm, to put it simply, a bastard daughter of a Prince. For a royal family, that is the absolute worst kind of crime. I've eavesdropped on plenty of conversations that still take place between my father and the other members of his family, even now, twelve years after my birth. They go something like this.

 _How could you?_ The Queen.

 _You have brought shame upon our entire family. Why didn't you at least marry her? She must not be seen …_ Blah, blah, blah. I've heard it a thousand times too many already. I live in a tiny cottage barely on the outskirts of the palace, out of sight, out of mind. That's what Agatha, my (reluctant) maid, tells me every time she comes over to bring me food, anyway. I'm not even allowed to go within a mile radius of the palace! Everyone in there treats me like I'm a contagious disease. Every time they catch a glimpse of me, they always immediately avert their eyes and walk away as fast as they can (which is not very fast, because royals have to be 'dignified' at all times). Sometimes, even though I hate the way they treat me and I wish they could accept me (have I mentioned it's been _twelve_ years?) I'm glad that I don't have to conform to stupid 'royal standards'.

My father is the third, and youngest, prince. Not many people know about him, either. From a young age, he preferred to spend time with his books and occasional inventions, which were not hobbies befitting for a prince. Nevertheless, they left him be, because he would never inherit the throne and so wasn't important. The most attention he ever got from them was because of my illegal birth. He's barely even a father, anyway. From what I gleaned during eavesdropping sessions, he didn't even want me. He tried to send me back, he said. He told everyone that it was a "drunken, one-night stand" and he wasn't even dating my mother at the time. She vanished for nine months and after that, there was just a golden cradle at his front door with a note saying, _Her name is Alexandra_. I mean, who _does_ that? Isn't it every girl's dream to marry a prince?

My mother, obviously, is not in the picture. If she was, it would definitely make life a lot easier – not for her, maybe, but for me. For my father. Definitely for my family; they've already tried countless times to marry my father off, in order to "cover up the scandal". The scandal? Me. Since my birth, I've been alone in this cottage with my nanny, Helena. She's the only mother figure I've ever had. She's one of the only people in the world who cares for me. Who asks me about my day, tells me stories – all the things a mother's supposed to do. She and her daughter, Imogen, live with me in this little cottage. Imogen's my only friend, and she's like a sister to me. She and Helena are the sole reason why I haven't run into the woods and never looked back. Well, that and because I'm twelve. I wouldn't know what to do. Where would I go? I could say many awful things about my family, but at least they've never let me starve. I would surely starve to death out there. Better to take on the evil I know.

My father visits once a month. It never amounts to anything substantial. Each time, I get my hopes up, thinking _this is it_ – this is the time he's actually going to refer to me as his daughter, this is the time he'll take me back to the palace and proudly declare that he loves me in front of all the paparazzi. Each time, I'm disappointed. I don't even know why I bother getting my hopes up every time; they always end up getting crushed. What actually happens? We make strained, stilted conversation over tea, he gives me a ton of gifts – as if that would ever make up for his absence – and tells me all about his new wife, Brianna, who he married the year that I turned eight. It's been four years, and she doesn't even know about me, the bastard child of her husband. By the looks of it, no one's going to tell her anytime soon. Honestly, I'm really just waiting for the time when he visits and tells me that she's pregnant. It's going to happen sooner or later, and then he'll come more infrequently, until the visits stop altogether. He'll forget all about me, too focused on his new, perfect family, and then the briars will grow all around my cottage and I'll disappear forever. Sometimes, when I'm in the mood for wishful thinking, I wish that Brianna was my mother, that we could be a family together. But I know it'll never happen.

Nobody talks about my mother. It's almost an unspoken taboo. When I was younger, more naïve, I asked my father about her once. Maybe he was in a particularly good mood that day or something, I don't know, but that was the first and only time he told me about her. Her name was Annabeth, he said. She had grey eyes just like mine, but black hair in contrast to my blonde. _You look just like her_ , he said. It wasn't wistful or anything – just a simple observation. He'd never been in love with her or anything; they'd just been good friends, going to college together, and then one night at a party they both got drunk and then I happened. How unfortunate for them. She was from America, and at first when she left he just thought that she'd had a family emergency or something. It had happened before. But then one day he came to this cottage, which used to be his refuge before it became my prison, and there was a golden cradle floating on the breeze down from the heavens, with me in it. He'd been pretty unclear about this part, his eyes had gone unfocused, like he wasn't sure what he saw. I mean, a cradle floating from the sky? Yeah, pretty unbelievable. I was pretty sure that he'd just not been wearing his glasses and had seen that instead of the cradle sitting on the front porch. At this point, he stopped abruptly, then whirled on me and told me never, _ever_ to say her name, or say anything about her, ever again. Then he left.

After that, I didn't pry. I already knew everything I needed to – her name, her appearance, where she lived. In case I ever wanted to find her. And honestly? I did want to find her, if only to give her a thorough chewing out for leaving an innocent baby like that. I didn't want to live with her, or anything. I was perfectly content in my tiny corner of the palace with Helena and Imogen. Well, not _perfectly_ , but at least I was used to it. I'd long since grown out of pining for the woman who abandoned me.

* * *

Imogen left the cottage every day, to go to school. I, on the other hand, wasn't allowed to be at school, in fear of my secret coming out. Never mind that nobody knew about me, much less what I looked like. The Queen had decreed it, so that was that. So Helena took it upon herself to teach me what little she knew, with Imogen explaining to me everything she'd learnt each day at school. However, I couldn't read very well – which I later found out was called dyslexia – and I couldn't sit still very long, which I later found out was called ADHD, and was pretty common. Nevertheless, having known exactly three people up till then, I thought there was something seriously wrong with me, since none of them had trouble with either. During particularly gloomy days, I even thought that it was my penance for being a bastard. Helena, of course, sharply scolded that tendency out of me. She told me it wasn't my fault, that they were all stupid to realize how wonderful, how smart I was. I laughed through my tears at the ridiculousness of her words, but allowed myself to be drawn into her warm embrace. In moments like those, I could pretend that I really was Imogen's sister, not the bastard daughter of the prince.

On the fateful day that my life changed forever, I'd just had a fight with Imogen. The unjustness of her getting to go to school, have normal friends, had gotten to me again, and I'd said some unflattering things that I didn't really mean. I guess she was tired of placating me over and over again, because hurtful words just burst out of her mouth like a dam, twelve years' worth of it. She told me how she was sick and tired of being cloistered in this cottage because of me, how she couldn't believe her mother actually cared about a freak like me … and so on. I hadn't been able to take this onslaught from the only friend I'd ever really had, so I'd run away, not caring where I was going, tears blinding my vision, with her shouts of "Coward!" echoing behind me. Somewhere inside me, I knew that she'd just been caught up in the moment, that she didn't really mean all those things, but a larger part of me was telling me that yes, she did mean it, that one couldn't say things like that without meaning them. They were true, after all, even if I didn't want to admit it. I was the one who had robbed her of a normal life. I was the one who had gotten jealous of her normal friends that I would never be able to have. It was all my fault, like most things were. In reality, they weren't my fault – just unjust blame placed on a twelve year old girl by adults who should know better, simply because she was an easy target. At the time, I didn't know it, but really, for monarchs, they were no better than playground bullies.

Huddled against a tree somewhere in the woods, I angrily swiped my tears away and contemplated my options. I couldn't go back to the cottage, the only home I'd ever known – even if it felt like a cage most of the time – because that would mean facing Imogen again. I couldn't go to the palace, to my father, because I wasn't even allowed anywhere near it. So that only left one option. Go to America, and seek out my mother. I know, I know, I wasn't thinking straight, but my mind was muddled at the time. It seemed like the only clear path through my addled mind.

For whatever reason, I had always been a good strategist (or so I thought, since I didn't have any unit of measurement save for Imogen.) I won every game with her and Helena, and they always praised me for my quick thinking, which came in handy now. How could a twelve year old girl get to America by herself? I wondered. I spent a long time pondering, during which the shadows of the trees lengthened and slowly disappeared, not that I noticed. I looked over at the landing pad, where the royal jet was waiting to take my uncles to America tomorrow for a diplomatic mission … wait. That's it! I would just stowaway on the plane, get to America, and then find my mother. Simple as that. With my mind made up, I stole back to the cottage, making sure to be extra quiet so not to wake Helena and Imogen, packed a backpack full of essentials – non perishable food, water, money, clothes – and, after scribbling a hasty note to them telling them that I was sorry, but that Imogen was right, and I wasn't wanted, I left without looking back. The bird, free from her cage at last.

* * *

Morning dawned, and rays of sunlight filtered through the tiny window in the side of the storage compartment in the plane. I squinted against it, my body aching from sleeping curled up against an uncomfortably hard trunk that was jabbing against my side unpleasantly. Despite this, I felt a thrill of adrenaline as I felt the soft thrum of the airplane engines. I couldn't believe that I was really doing this. All my life, I'd been afraid to come out of my comfort zone, too scared to even venture outside palace grounds, and now I was going to an entirely different _continent_. Sure, I was scared, but I was exhilarated, too. Who knew what was awaiting me?

I shrank deeper into the compartment – spacious, just like everything the royals liked – as voices filtered up to me. I'd heard those voices a million times when I eavesdropped, but to tell you the truth, I wouldn't be able to match the voices to the faces. I'd never seen most of my extended family. Sad, I know, but a must for a closely kept secret such as I. I recognised my father's two brothers, their wives – even my two little cousins who I'd never be able to meet, who were allowed to skip through the palace and dash through its corridors in a way that I would never be able to do. Sometimes, I envied them for not having a care in the world except what they would get for their birthdays. At their age, I'd heard the word 'bastard' so many times that I'd searched it up in the dictionary, then spent the remainder of the afternoon curled up in my bed crying until Helena came to get me for dinner. That had been the first time I asked her why everyone hated me. It wasn't something that should have concerned a normal three year old child, but I wasn't normal by anyone's definition.

I listened as the royals busied themselves bustling around the plane. I'd snuck into the palace grounds enough times to recognise their footsteps, too. Sue me. I was lonely, and bored. They were taking forever up there, and my foot had already begun to tap impatiently, despite my efforts to still it. I suddenly wasn't sure I would be able to last for however long this trip would take inside this compartment, with nothing to amuse me save for my dog-eared copy of _The Wind in the Willows_ , my favourite book that I had brought with me for purely sentimental reasons. It had been in my cradle when I'd been delivered to my father; my first and only present, my only reminder of my mother.

Accompanied by the gentle lullaby of the plane's engines, I quickly dozed off, the voices above swirling in a cacophony around me, mingling together until I couldn't make out what they were saying.

* * *

I was rudely jolted awake by an abrupt bump that made me scramble up and hit my head on the ceiling. I rubbed the bump, annoyed, and peered through the window. A giant structure loomed before me, bigger even than the palace, and I couldn't withhold my gasp. Had we arrived in America? I stared out the window, greedily drinking in everything, as if afraid it would slip away. For a girl who'd never even been outside palace grounds, this was awe-inspiring. And that was when the significance of what I'd done hit me. How could I find my mother in this giant world? All I knew was that she was from America. How had it not occurred to me earlier that America was a huge place and I wouldn't even know where to start? Why didn't I at least search her up beforehand? For someone who prided herself on strategic skills, they were sorely lacking in this misadventure. What was I going to do now?


	2. 2

2

I didn't know how long I stayed in the storage compartment, wallowing in my self-despair, but eventually I cleared the haze from my brain and clambered out of the plane. After hours, maybe days, of wandering around aimlessly, I eventually found a place that looked like a bus stop which might be able to take me where I needed to go. Fortunately, I owned a phone, one of the many compensation gifts, as I had begun to call them, from my father, and I was able to Google search "Annabeth", in hopes of finding someone who looked like me. My heart plummeted when the screen loaded. There were at least a thousand results for the search, and I began to slip into despair again when I realized that I would probably never find her in a world this big, then I mentally berated myself. _You've come this far_ , a little voice sniped. _You can't give up now._

Eventually, after what seemed like hours of scrolling through useless trivia, I found a result that stood out from the others. A woman named Annabeth Jackson, neé Chase, head architect of a world famous architectural firm named "Athenian Architecture", who seemed about the right age. Hesitantly, I clicked on a photo of her, and a flood of relief filled me. This _had_ to be her. For staring back up at me were the same pair of stormy grey eyes that I saw in the mirror every day. It didn't matter that she had blonde hair instead of black, hair could easily be dyed, but with every second that I stared at the picture I grew more convinced. This woman was my mother. She bore a striking resemblance to me – or, I suppose, it was the other way around – with the same facial structure and princess curls in her hair. High on my newfound giddiness, I frantically typed her name into the search box in hopes of finding her address … and that was when I ran into a brick wall. There was plenty of information about her various accomplishments, her firm, her husband, blah blah blah. But it was like she'd disappeared off the map. There was not one record of her address, anywhere. And for the second time that day, I felt my spirits plummet.

In the end, after hours of fruitless searching, I decided that the next best thing would be to visit the firm she worked at. One of the employees there had to have some idea of where she lived, right? And with that idea firmly implanted in my head, I scoured the bus terminal for a bus headed to Long Island, New York City, feeling endlessly grateful that we had landed at the airport in New York.

New York, I quickly found out, was a bustling city worlds away from the quiet peace of the palace I was used to. I was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people rushing to and fro like ants on a mission. My mind simply couldn't reconcile the image my eyes saw with my quiet home, and, not for the first time since I got here, I began to wonder if this was a mistake. If I would have been better off staying in that cottage for the rest of my life. But then I told myself that I couldn't possibly have done that; I would probably have died of sheer boredom by the time I turned eighteen.

* * *

The bus dropped me off at a street corner teeming with people, and I just stood in the middle like a rock in the middle of a raging river, people sending me angry glances as they swerved to avoid me. My head spun dizzily and I feared I was about to faint, but no one spared me a second glance. Well, whatever. I was used to being ignored. When I finally regained my bearings, I discovered that the mass of people had vanished, seemingly into thin air, and I was just scanning the streets to find a familiar street that I had looked up on Google Maps when a bloodcurdling roar split the air.

Heart in my mouth – New York or not, I was fairly sure that wasn't normal – I slowly turned and came face to face with a giant slavering beast. So I did the only thing I could. I screamed.

It was like a bad movie come to life. The beast was huge, black and hairy. It had a lolling pink tongue that was dripping slobber, beady red eyes and a mouth open in a fearsome snarl. In my haste, I almost tripped as I stumbled back, not believing my eyes. Surely this was a dream, I told myself. Beasts like this don't exist in real life. I almost had myself convinced that I was simply hallucinating when the beast lunged at me, seemingly determined to kill me. I didn't have the breath to scream as I dodged a swipe of its paw, turned tail and ran. I was running on autopilot now, swerving to avoid the gleaming claws that looked like they could take off my head in one swipe, my mind struggling to accept what seemed to be my new reality. Idly, I wondered, if I was killed now, would anyone miss me? Would my father even mourn me? His family would probably rejoice at my death, I thought bitterly.

I, not being used to such strenuous physical exertion, was quickly tiring. I knew my time was running out. My legs were burning and my lungs were on fire, every breath in feeling like a knife stabbed through my ribs. I had no weapon, nothing to distract the beast – I knew I was done for. I closed my eyes and quickly whispered an apology to Helena and Imogen, the only two people who had ever cared for me. I was truly sorry that I couldn't even say goodbye to them as I prepared to die.

Then, out of nowhere, a voice rang out, cutting through the soundtrack of my frenzied breaths and the beast's snarls. "Hey, ugly!" it yelled. "Pick on someone your own size, how 'bout that?"

My legs gave out beneath me and I collapsed in an ungainly heap to the pavement, panting hard, gulping down precious air. The beast turned, losing interest in me and instead focusing its interest on my saviour – a boy about my age, maybe older, wielding a bronze sword with a fierce expression on his face. My eyes widened. _He's going to get himself killed!_ was my first thought, but I was too winded to be able to do anything about it. Not to mention that I was unarmed and pathetically inexperienced.

The beast roared, seemingly issuing a challenge, and the boy leapt. Time seemed to slow as my eyes followed his graceful path through the air, my heart frozen in fear, as he landed square on its back, plunging his sword through its neck. It hissed in pain and tried to buck him off his back, but he gripped his sword harder and sliced clean through its head, killing it, as it disintegrated into gold dust. My mouth was wide open as I watched the scene, gaping at this boy who was barely older than me but yet had killed such a fearsome monster. Who _was_ he?

The boy brushed golden dust off his clothes, a grimace on his face, then whipped his head around to face me as I dragged myself upright, seeming to notice me for the first time. He frowned warily, and for a minute I thought he would kill me for witnessing it.

"What – what was that?" I breathed, looking between him and the dust which still coated the cobblestones.

In response, he narrowed his eyes at me. "What did you see?"

I blinked, not sure if he was joking or not. What else would I see? "Um – a black beast, red eyes, which you killed and – and it just – disintegrated?" I stammered. "How did you do that? Why isn't there a body? I don't - I don't understand, monsters aren't real …"

He took a step forward as I stumbled back, his arms raised in a placating gesture. "I won't hurt you," he said, smiling slightly. "If you can see that, you're probably a demigod. That was a hellhound. Single parent? ADHD? Dyslexia?" he interrogated.

"I – yes, but how did you know? And – demigod? What – what's that?"

He looked at me, contemplating something, then stretched his hand out to me. "Come with me, and I'll explain everything."

I stared at his outstretched hand, not trusting this too-good-to-be-true stranger. But what other choice did I have? I was a goner if another hellhound showed up. So I took his hand and let him lead me. I wouldn't ever find my mother if I died at the hands of a monster, so my best bet was to follow him and hear him out.

We stopped at a street a safe distance away from the one where the hellhound showed up and he stuck his arm out, dropping what looked like a coin onto the road. I frowned and opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, the earth rumbled and a gray taxi popped out of the ground. I was sure I looked like a fish right now, but I was too busy gaping at the car to care. Cars didn't just pop out of the ground. It wasn't possible … and yet it had happened right before my eyes. What was going on?

The boy – I still hadn't gotten his name – stepped into the taxi, but I remained outside, not trusting the vehicle. He looked at me impatiently. "Hurry up," he said. "We need to get you to camp as soon as possible."

Reluctantly, I got in, staying as far away from him as possible. "What's camp?"

"The only safe place for people like us."

"What do you mean?"

He didn't answer, instead leaning over to tell the drivers, "Camp Half-Blood." When I swiveled my head around to look at the drivers, my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. In the driver's seat sat three shriveled old ladies, devoid of any features except one eye and one tooth. They appeared to be arguing over the eye, and with a shiver, I sat back, my mind on overload with everything I'd witnessed today. How had everything gone so wrong?

* * *

After feeling like my stomach was going to leap right out of my throat at least a thousand times, I stumbled out of the taxi, nearly falling flat on my face. "Never – again," I gasped, trying to catch my breath. "What – was – that?"

"The Gray Sisters' Taxi," he said grimly. "I hoped not to have to use it … but we had no choice."

With that cryptic warning, he hoisted me to my feet as if I weighed nothing and strode ahead. I had no choice but to follow. Looking around, I noticed that he'd brought me to a place of … nothing. There was nothing around except for a lone pine tree at the top of the hill. However, I sensed a niggling feeling of _wrongness_ ; it was like the pine tree was whispering, _You don't belong. Leave ..._ which was ridiculous. Pine trees didn't talk. So I shook it off, ignoring the strengthening foreboding in my gut, and turned to the boy.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?"

He didn't reply, instead lengthening his stride so I had to jog to keep up. "What's your name?" I had to yell to be heard.

He turned. "I'm Nathan Clements, son of – " He cut off abruptly. "You?"

"Uh, Alexandra." He waited, looking at me expectantly. I stared blankly back at him, unsure what he wanted and burning with curiosity about what he'd been about to say. Then it hit me. "I, um, don't like to use my last name." It was partially a lie, because I had none to speak of. He just nodded at me.

Soon, we reached the pine tree. He didn't even seem tired, whilst I was panting in exhaustion, too out of breath to speak. As I neared the tree, I found something strange about it – there was what looked like a golden sheepskin on it. I frowned. Who would put a sheepskin on a tree in the middle of nowhere? I averted my gaze from the tree and nearly jumped three feet in the air. For at the base of the tree, curled around the trunk and regarding me suspiciously with slitted eyes, was a dragon. An actual, real life dragon, like the ones you see in stories. I barely stifled a scream. Its eyes bored into me, as if it knew that I didn't belong here just as surely as my instincts were screaming it.

Nathan turned at the strangled noise I emitted. "Don't be afraid," he said casually, like seeing a dragon was an everyday thing. "That's just Peleus. He won't harm you if you don't mean harm to the camp."

"I – that's a dragon – a _dragon_!"

His lips lifted up into a smile. "Yeah, we normally get that reaction from newbies," he chuckled, and I didn't get a chance to reply as he sauntered past the dragon like it wasn't even there. I looked expectantly at it, but it didn't even budge.

"Are you coming?"

"What if the dragon eats me?"

"It won't. Now come on before another monster shows up, would you?"

With that encouragement, I slowly inched past the dragon, holding my breath. Its head swiveled to follow my movements and I froze, not daring to breathe, as it came up to sniff me. Then, as if deciding that I wasn't interesting enough, it turned away, letting out a huff. I couldn't help but feel a bit indignant, and Nathan laughed at my expression.

"Come on," he said, still chuckling. "We're going to see Chiron."

I didn't get a chance to ask who, exactly, "Chiron" was as I tentatively took my gaze away from the dragon and gazed out at what had once been a barren land. A red sea of strawberry fields dominated my vision, small specks of what looked to be teenagers working in them, and next to them there were a small ring of cabins, what looked to be an arena and an open space with lots of benches. But although the scene was picturesque and should be emitting a tranquil, peaceful feeling, it was anything but to me. My instincts were screaming at me to leave while I could ... but where would I go? My mouth dropped open once again when my gaze locked on a normal climbing wall … except it was spewing lava. Kids were climbing up it, only to be scorched by the lava and fall down again. I winced when one kid got a mouthful of lava to the face. "Is that safe?" I asked, more to myself than to Nathan. He glanced back at me.

"Oh, the climbing wall? I wouldn't say it's _safe_ , but no one's died from it yet," he shrugged, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. No one's died _yet_? Did that mean someone _would_? And they didn't care? What kind of place _was_ this?

We trekked along the edge of the strawberry fields, kids pausing in their work to wave to Nathan, and he waved back. To the right, I glimpsed other kids running around in armor that looked ancient, wielding all kinds of swords, daggers and knives. _This is a dream_ , I repeated to myself. There was no way that this was real. Was there?


	3. 3

3

I quickly found out who "Chiron" was. We approached a big house, painted blue, appropriately called the "Big House". I couldn't help but chuckle at that. It seemed these people didn't have a lot of creativity. When I looked at it, I had to do a double take, rubbing my eyes to ensure that I hadn't seen wrong. On the porch was a centaur – half horse, half human, looking down at us. Nathan introduced him to me as Chiron, the activities director of the camp, and apparently, the same Chiron in the Greek myths Helena had loved to read to me when I was little. I struggled to reconcile this new information with what I knew of the world, trying to convince myself that they were just myths. Unfortunately, I said that out loud, and I jumped about three feet in the air as thunder boomed in the _clear, blue sky_ , not a drop of rain in sight. What was going on?

"I would advise you not to say that, child," Chiron told me. "The gods are, ah, touchy, you could say, about being referred to as myths."

Thunder boomed once again and the sky flashed grey before turning to normal. Chiron winced, and Nathan looked at me with this indecipherable look, as if wondering if I was stupid or not. I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him and inform him that just because I was homeschooled, in the loosest definition of the word, certainly did _not_ mean I was stupid. I grasped things much more quickly than Imogen did, at any rate.

Chiron led us into the Big House, where he astonishingly folded his horse lower half into a wheelchair and gestured for us to sit down on the couch. I was frozen with shock and didn't move until Nathan tugged at my sleeve. Embarrassed, I sank down, but Chiron didn't seem to mind. It was almost as if he was used to my reaction. Nathan left, and soon I was alone with Chiron. Strangely, I didn't feel concerned about this. There was something about him that told me he wouldn't hurt me.

"Tell me, child," Chiron said. "What do you know about the Greek gods?"

"Um, there are twelve Olympians," I said uncertainly. I'd studied history with Helena and Imogen, certainly, but not much on Greek history. Anything I recalled came from old storybooks Helena read to me as I fell asleep, so it was reasonable that my memory was a bit fuzzy. "Uh … there was Jupiter, king of the gods." Thunder rumbled again, pleasantly this time, and Chiron looked up, almost nervously. He looked back at me with a neutral expression, but I somehow got the feeling he was ... _afraid_ of me.

"I would advise you to be careful," he warned me. "Names have power. You shouldn't throw them around carelessly. Also, Jupiter is his Roman form. His Greek form is Zeus."

I was about to protest that Greek gods weren't real, but one look silenced me. _You encountered a monster,_ the little voice inside my head reminded me. _Who's to say Greek gods_ aren't _real?_

Chiron took a deep breath. "Greek gods are real," he informed me, almost in a monotone, like he'd already had to deliver this speech a couple hundred times. Maybe he had, especially if he really was as old as he said he was. "You are probably the daughter of one. Tell me, do you have dyslexia? ADHD? A single parent, or maybe a step-parent?"

Suddenly, the memory of why I was here rushed into my head. With all that had been going on, I had completely forgotten that the whole reason why I was here was because I needed to find my mother. Which meant I couldn't possibly be the daughter of a Greek goddess. Right?

"I have dyslexia and ADHD," I told Chiron. "But I think you're mistaken. I can't be the daughter of a Greek goddess. I live with my father, and I know my mother's name."

Chiron looked interested. "Legacy, then?" he mumbled under his breath. Louder, he said, "What is your mother's name, then?"

"Annabeth Jackson."

For a whole minute, it was like time froze. Chiron just stared at me, his mouth wide open in an O, the first sign of surprise I'd seen from him since I met him. I glanced back at him nervously, unsure if I'd said something wrong. I waved my hand in front of his face tentatively, and he snapped out of it, blinking at me a couple of times, opening his mouth as if to say something. I waited in anticipation. Did he know my mother? Could he help me find her?

Then he did something I wasn't expecting.

He burst out laughing.

Incredulously, I stared at him. He was bent over double, tears streaming down his face, a booming laugh filling the room. I didn't know what to do. Should I just back away slowly, or wait it out? I considered my options, but since I didn't feel like taking my chances with the heavily armed kids who didn't know who I was outside, I opted to remain.

He didn't stop laughing for at least ten more minutes. Finally, he straightened – he'd almost fallen out of the wheelchair, twice – and wiped away the tears, a stray chuckle escaping here and there. I sat with my hands folded in my lap, trying my best not to let my anger show on my face. I must not have succeeded, though, because the minute he looked at me he sobered up.

"I am sorry, child," he said, still trying to wipe away his tears. "I should not have done that. But, well, what you are saying is impossible."

"Why?" I said angrily. "Who is she, anyway? Do you know her?"

"Oh, yes," Chiron said, a sad look entering his eye. "She, too, was a camper here once. A long time ago. She was like a daughter to me. So trust me, child, when I say that she cannot possibly be your mother."

"But – it has to be her!" I said desperately. "My dad told me her name was Annabeth. She had black hair, and grey eyes, and looked like me," I parroted, desperate for him to believe me. I had come too far to lose the only lead I had. "She's the only one I found on the Internet who matches."

Chiron just looked at me, almost in pity. It just made me angrier. "Annabeth Jackson has blonde hair," he said. "She is married to a husband whom she loves very much. She would never cheat on him." He said it with such conviction that I had a hard time not believing him. _If he did know her personally,_ the little voice spoke up, _wouldn't he know if she was pregnant or not?_

"She could have married him after she had me," I said, grasping at straws now, futilely. "It _has_ to be her! I can't have come all this way for nothing!" And then, to my utter dismay and shame, I burst out crying, in front of a complete stranger.

To his credit, Chiron didn't even blink an eye. He just came closer to me, and handed me a tissue, patting my back gently. "Do not fret, child," he said, so kindly that I felt myself relaxing, just a little. "If you wish to see her, then I will help you. But I am afraid that she will not tell you anything that I have not already told you. Besides," he said with a frown. "I have my suspicions about who your true mother may be."

"Who?" I asked eagerly.

He looked at me, seeming to contemplate something, and came to a decision. "Were you, by any chance, sent to your father in a golden cradle?"

"Yes … but how did you know?"

"Because that is the usual way that Lady M-Athena delivers her children to their mortal parents," he said gravely. "Of course, this is only a suspicion. You will need to be claimed to prove it true. It is true that you look like Annabeth, but she is a daughter of Athena. If you, too, are a daughter of Athena, it would explain the resemblance."

A daughter of Athena. Me, the daughter of a goddess? It was laughable. There was no way it was true. It would be easier to believe that my mother was indeed Annabeth Jackson. Unreachable, yes, but not a supernatural being. I was afraid that if I accepted the possibility that my mother was a goddess, I would go insane. Enough had happened to me today.

At that moment, a girl, with blonde windswept hair pulled into a ponytail and striking sea green eyes, burst through the door. I couldn't help staring at her eyes – I'd never seen eyes in a shade like hers. They were constantly changing, as though there were waves in her eyes. She, however, didn't even notice me. "Chiron!" she shouted, breathing heavily. I winced. Didn't she ever hear of _inside voices_? "The Stolls wrecked the Demeter cabin _again_ , and they're growing vines sky-high! You have to hurry!" Then she noticed me. "Who's this?"

Chiron looked at me, wincing. It was almost as if he didn't want this girl to know about me. What else is new? Story of my life. So I took it upon myself to introduce myself to this girl. "Alexandra," I told her. "Nice to meet you."

She looked me up and down, crossing her arms. "Who's your parent?"

Chiron opened his mouth to intervene, a flash of worry crossing his face, but I spoke before he could. He sent me a warning look that I ignored. "I don't have a godly parent," I told her. "My mother's name is Annabeth Jackson."

The girl – who I still had yet to learn the name of – moved too fast for my eyes to follow. One minute, she was standing in front of me; the next, she was kneeling over me, and I was flat on the floor, her dagger to my throat. Her sea green eyes no longer looked enticing – now they were blazing and stormy, flashes like lightning zigzagging through them. " _What,_ " she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, daring me to say the wrong thing, " _did you say?_ "

"Sophia," Chiron's steady voice cut through the tension. "Please get off Alexandra."

The girl – Sophia – didn't even turn her head. "I will _not_ ," she enunciated through gritted teeth. "Did you _hear_ what she said? I won't stand for this." She brought her face closer to mine, and I winced, trying to look away, but unable to, as her dagger was still biting into my neck. If looks could kill, I would certainly be dead ten times over by now. The worst part was that I couldn't do anything about my situation. Sophia was clearly skilled with that dagger, and experienced – I wouldn't stand a chance against her. She was dangerous, and yet she was barely older than me.

"Your mother," she growled, punctuating each syllable clearly, as if I was hard of hearing. "Is _not_. Annabeth. Jackson. And you will _never_ say so. Never again. Am I understood?"

"Crystal," I managed, trying to breathe through the near choke hold and panic suffocating me. I didn't want to die at the hands of this girl. She glared at me one last time, as if willing her gaze to disintegrate me on the spot. I tried not to flinch, really I did, but she was so intimidating that I wished I could just sink into the floor and disappear, far away from those sea green eyes of hers. She smirked, as if sensing my terror, and vaulted off me, stalking off in a predatory way that made me shrink back without even looking back once, confidence in every step. Even with my fear of her, I couldn't help but admire that confidence.

Chiron sighed, looking after her, then back at me. "I am sorry about Sophia," he offered. "She isn't normally like this. But you see, Annabeth Jackson is her mother. So, obviously, she didn't like what you were insinuating."

My neck was still bruised from Sophia's dagger, but suddenly I felt a wave of shame and guilt. I could understand her anger now. I'd basically just told her to her face that her mother was cheating on her father, and had a child with someone else. Another tidal wave of guilt crashed over me. _Where do you get off?_ the voice inside me demanded. _You don't even know if she's your mother or not. And now look what you've done!_

"I'm – I'm sorry," I whispered, tears building in my eyes. "I just – I don't know … I thought all my problems would be solved when I came here. I'd be able to find my mother, maybe she'd even want me, who knows? And then the monster came, and everything just got flipped upside down … I guess I just wanted there to be some point in coming here." I stared at the ground, wishing that this was all a bad dream and that I would wake up in my safe, secluded cottage on the palace grounds, laughing at the things my imagination had conjured up. "I'm really, really sorry."

* * *

Chiron summoned Nathan to give me a tour of camp. He explained that in normal circumstances, he would have Sophia do it, but because of our, ah, _unfortunate encounter_ , it would be best for Nathan to do it. I wholeheartedly agreed. I never wanted to be on the other end of that dagger ever again.

The camp was even more breathtaking up close. Although the foreboding feeling lingered, I pushed it away and instead focused on the scenery, of which there was no shortage. All the cabins were spectacular in their own ways, each as different from their neighbours as the sun was to the moon. When I mentioned that to Nathan, he laughed for a full minute then guided me to the two side-by-side gold-and-silver cabins, and between chortles told me that the gold was the cabin of Apollo, god of the sun, and the silver was the cabin of Artemis, goddess of the moon. Apollo's cabin was blindingly bright, so much so that even when I looked at it from my peripheral vision spots danced in my vision. In contrast, Artemis's cabin glowed softly, like moonlight, sending a wave of comfort washing over me. For whatever reason, I felt particularly drawn to Cabin 6, Athena's cabin. The little voice in my head whispered, _Maybe it's because you're a daughter of Athena,_ but I ignored it, not ready to face that just yet.

All of a sudden, Nathan tensed beside me and blushed. I frowned, following his line of sight, and involuntarily shuddered. There, sat on the porch of a cabin which smelled like the sea, with gleaming coral walls, were twin Sophias. They looked exactly alike, down to the orange Camp Half-Blood shirts and blue denim shorts, and I suppressed a shiver.

"Poseidon's cabin," Nathan said from beside me, and I jumped, momentarily forgetting that he was there. "That's Sophia and Cordelia Jackson. They're twins," he added unnecessarily. I noticed his lingering blush and the way his eyes fixated on them. "Granddaughters of Athena and Poseidon. Daughters of the legendary Heroes of Olympus, Percy and Annabeth Jackson," he said, his voice taking on a reverent tone. He looked at me, taking in my confused expression, and said, "You'll see. At the campfire, tonight."

As if she'd felt my eyes on her, one of the twins turned her head and I was met with the same striking sea-green eyes that had glared at me from the other end of a dagger. Her eyes seemed to tear into my soul and I suddenly felt exposed. In vain, I tried to look away, but her eyes were almost hypnotising. Not breaking her stare, she whispered something to her twin. They were so similar, down to the intimidating stare; but Cordelia had aquamarine eyes, blue as the ocean waves. As one, they turned and went back into the cabin, and I was able to breathe again.


	4. 4

4

Nathan deposited me at the unclaimed cabin, a simple wooden log cabin with no additional decorations. He explained that after the Second Titan War, instead of accepting god hood, Percy Jackson had instead requested recognition for all minor gods and claiming for children once they reached the age of twelve. So far, the gods seemed to be complying, so he assured me that I would be claimed soon. Personally, I didn't want to be claimed; it would just be confirming what I dreaded: that I was indeed the daughter of a goddess. Even if I had to endure the murderous stares of Sophia and Cordelia Jackson.

I was so exhausted from the whirlwind of a day that I'd had, that the moment my head touched the pillow I was immediately out cold ... and immediately pulled into a vivid dreamscape.

 _Dreamscape:_

 _I was back in the Big House, hovering just inside the doorway with a clear view of Chiron seated in his wheelchair, staring thoughtfully at the carpet, seeming to be lost in thought. From behind me, I heard footsteps and spun around to see the very woman I'd come here looking for: Annabeth Jackson. She had blonde princess curls tied into a tight ponytail, stormy grey eyes that looked more intimidating than her daughters', and she was wearing a blazer and pencil skirt. She had obviously come from work, and her face was tense and worried._

 _"Chiron?" She asked gently, startling the centaur out of his thoughts._

 _"Annabeth," he said, clearly relieved, making as if to rise out of the chair but sinking back down as he remembered his lower horse half. She took a seat opposite him on the couch, on the exact spot I had sat not two hours ago, and laced her fingers together delicately, looking at the centaur intensely._

 _"Sophie told me there's been another one?"_

 _Another one of what? I wondered distantly, but then focused back on the conversation. After all, I had had twelve years to get good at eavesdropping and appreciate its usefulness._

 _Chiron looked even grimmer than he had before she spoke. "I'm afraid so," he sighed. "But there is something different about this one than the others..."_

 _"Sophie told me," Annabeth interrupted. "Someone told her her mother's name was Annabeth, and now she thinks I'm her mother."_

 _So they were talking about me. What did they mean, there were others like me?_

 _"I know you would never, child, but I still must make certain..."_

 _Annabeth's stormy grey eyes swirled with anger. "I love Percy," she declared furiously. "Of course I would never!"_

 _Chiron held up his hands. "Peace, child. It was necessary," he replied in a calm tone. "I believe, like the others, that she is a daughter of Minerva. Your mother's Roman form."_

 _Annabeth's brows creased. "If they are Roman, why were they sent here?"_

 _"I truly do not know," Chiron sighed. "Perhaps it is due to the Romans' strong belief that Minerva is strictly a maiden goddess. They would never accept children of Minerva. She would be shunned even more than she already is, you see."_

 _Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, I clearly remember their reaction to me," she said dryly. "Not the best welcome I've ever received." They shared a laugh, but quickly became serious again._

 _"Perhaps it isn't a big deal," Annabeth suggested hopefully. "Maybe Minerva just started having more children and doesn't want to send them to Camp Jupiter. There could be a perfectly logical explanation."_

 _Chiron looked at her sadly, but did not say anything to refute her statement. "We can only hope," he said, laying his hand on top of hers. Annabeth just gave him a rueful smile._

 _"Weren't two wars enough?" She whispered, more to herself than to Chiron. "I don't want my children to suffer."_


End file.
